


A Collection of Scars

by kristsune



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Jonathan Sims, Descriptions of Bodily Harm, M/M, Scars, and not afraid to show him anyway he can, jon does not think highly of himself, just not in this fic, martin loves every part of jon, negative self image, nonsexual acts of intimacy, not saying it doesnt happen, scars and all, spoilers through MAG 160, though we ignore the second half of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:20:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kristsune/pseuds/kristsune
Summary: Jon collects scars like a goddamn hobbyor10 times Jon feels negatively about his scars and 1 time he doesn't
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 52
Kudos: 455





	A Collection of Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I started this way back in the middle of September, thanks to the prompt "Characters realizing for the first time that their injury is going to scar horrifically" and after the finale i was shocked to see that i was pretty well on point. But I started with just the physical scars, and I kept with that trend rather than all types of scars.  
> Did i mean for this to become a 10+1 fic? No. Did that happen anyway? Yes. The Power of Love between Jon and Martin just inspire me more than i ever realized. 
> 
> Vaguely inspired by [kingcael's](https://kingcael.tumblr.com/) fear cards, because he really captures Jon's scars that make me feel Some Kind of Way. And shout out to [this art](https://kristsune.tumblr.com/post/187913320739/biorust-art-i-have-a-slight-fascination-with) as well.
> 
> Huge shout out to Jesse and bubble for their encouragement and feedback <3

Jon tilted his head to the side, trying to see more of the wounds healing along his cheek, and down his neck, extending over his collarbone and upper chest. They looked just as raw and red as the ones on his hands and forearms. Perfect circles drilled into his skin by silver-black worms. Jon couldn’t stop the shiver down his spine, just thinking about how  _ invasive _ it had felt, having them bore into his body. Burrowing and squirming into his flesh. 

They were going to scar.  _ Badly _ .

He never really thought of himself as attractive, well, he never really thought about himself in that capacity at all, but he wouldn’t be surprised if people turned and fled from him after seeing him now. Jon supposed he was glad he didn’t have trypophobia, or he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror again. Maybe he’d try growing out his hair a bit to see if he could hide some of it. Luckily his usual wardrobe included quite a few collared shirts with the occasional turtleneck, so he could at least disguise how extensive the scarring went.

Jon sighed, and turned to leave, but instead gasped as his leg gave out, and had to grab onto the sink for support. 

Right. The chunk of flesh Sasha took out when she removed the worm from his calf. Which was  _ also _ going to scar, and possibly affect his gait for the rest of his life. Though he supposed a minor limp was better than being riddled with worms.

Jon leaned heavily against the wall as he hobbled back to the couch. He had brought some paperwork home with him, and could at least attempt to be productive while healing. Though he doubted there would be any leads to Gertrude’s killer, it was still better than nothing.

\-------

Jon removed the plaster from his shoulder to reveal the mostly healed puncture wound from Michael’s sharp hand. It wasn’t all that serious, just a flesh wound. Luckily it was nestled within a cluster of worm scars, so wouldn’t even stand out when it inevitably scarred. Jon would always be able to tell the difference though. It was larger and less perfectly round in comparison to the scars from Prentiss. It seemed to be healing with a swirling, twisting pattern. Jon hoped he was done collecting scars, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t nearly done yet.

\-------

Jon winced as he pulled the bandage off his hand. The burns from Jude Perry were still a violent red. They covered only where their hands touched, but it was enough: his entire palm, including the entire length of his fingers, and the stark line along the back of his hand from Jude’s thumb. The painkillers were starting to wear off, and it  _ hurt _ . Throbbing with his heartbeat, skin pulling anytime he moved his hand. 

Another scar that was going to be almost impossible to hide. Like he wasn’t hard enough to look at as it was. Maybe he could try some of those fingerless gloves Tim sometimes wore in the winter. 

Amazingly enough, the hand print branded into his skin, completely missed any of the perfect circles that were on the back of his hand. But the worm scars that were in close proximity of the burn pulsed painfully in time with it. Like they enjoyed causing him more pain. 

Jon sighed, and ran his good hand through his overgrown hair. He obviously wasn’t getting enough sleep, thinking about his scars working together against him. 

He startled at the knock on his door, but managed to hide it as it opened to reveal Martin with a tray in his hands.

“Hello, oh - s-sorry… am I interrupting something?”

“N-no. Not really. I was - I was just going to change the bandage.” Jon gestured to the fresh bandage and burn ointment that was currently sprawled across his desk. 

Martin paused for a moment, before asking, “Would - ah - would you like some help? I can’t imagine that being very easy.” 

Jon thought about how difficult it had been the last time he changed it, and just how exhausted he currently was. Accepting assistance for this would be... okay. Besides, Martin genuinely looked like he just wanted to  _ help _ . 

“Y-yes. I - Please.” Jon was aware of how stiff he sounded, but he didn’t really know how to be any other way.

Martin gave him a small smile, and put the tray down on the opposite side of the desk before pulling the chair around so he could sit next to Jon. 

“May I?” Martin gestured at his hand. 

“Oh! Yes, O-of course.” Jon held out his hand and Martin gently took hold of his wrist, careful not to touch any of the burns. 

As soon as his hand was in Martin’s, he became all business. None of his usual hesitance or awkwardness. His hands were steady and sure as he deftly applied the burn cream, and started to rewrap with a clean bandage. His touch was so gentle it barely hurt the entire time Martin was working. It was actually the least amount of pain Jon had been in… well longer than he could really remember. Like Martin himself soothed the ache in his hand. 

Martin held his hand for a brief extra second or three when he finished, thumb brushing the inside of his unburnt wrist, before startling and releasing all at once. 

“Um - well. T-there you go. All set.” All Martin’s usual awkwardness came flooding back along with a blush along his cheeks.

Jon attempted to give him a smile, though he wasn’t sure how successful he was. Now that Martin had let go, his hand started to throb again. “T-thank you, Martin.” 

Martin’s smile was brief, but bright, “O-of course. Anytime. Oh! I have your tea, and... I - uh - brought some paracetamol in case you - ah - needed some.” Before Jon could reply, Martin stood up with an embarrassed expression and backed towards the door. “I should... let you get back to it, then. Uhh.. just - let me know if you need anything.” Martin cringed slightly before shutting the door. Jon heard a slight thump like something hit it before he heard Martin’s footsteps taking him back to his desk. 

Jon had no idea what had just happened, but he realized that Martin hadn’t said one negative thing about his wound. Not that it was ugly, or would scar horrifically or that it was just another one he wouldn’t be able to pull off. Martin had just been kind and gentle, and Jon wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that information. He reached for his tea - a bit awkwardly, having to switch to his good hand - and leaned back as he took a sip, still amazed that Martin somehow still remembered exactly how he preferred to take his tea, even though he never mentioned it once. 

\-------

Jon snuck a look from the back seat to Daisy, who seemed to be fully absorbed in driving them back to the Institute through a mostly quiet London. He risked reaching a hand to his throat, which was still bleeding sluggishly. Daisy had cut him deeper than he realized when she threatened him with the knife. Yet another scar for his ever growing collection. 

Daisy growled out, “Sit still, or I won’t hold back next time.” 

“Daisy.” Basira sounded both calm and stern at the same time, and Jon wasn’t sure how she managed it. He still felt rattled, between the… interaction with Mike Crew, and his subsequent murder, and inhuming. Not to mention Daisy's threats and violence, and rough manhandling. Jon was completely exhausted, and sore, and could still feel the slight tremor in his hands.

He sighed and put his hands back in his lap, and honestly considered trying to sleep for the rest of the drive, death threats or no, because he sure wasn’t going to get any when they got back to the Institute, not with the plan to confront Elias looming in front of them. He closed his eyes, knowing he probably wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway. It was going to continue to be a long week, month,  _ year _ .

\-------

Jon examined the array of new scars on his chest. Technically they were scattered from his stomach all the way up to his collarbone and over one shoulder, but the vast majority were concentrated over his chest. Jon didn’t remember receiving them, and apparently they healed over completely when he woke from his coma. A physical souvenir from the Unknowing, because the grief, and guilt apparently weren’t enough. 

The shrapnel that destroyed the wax museum, ended the Unknowing, and killed two people who … well, weren’t  _ friends _ , but maybe could have been, if things had been different. That same shrapnel sliced through Jon and somehow left him alive. Things  _ felt _ different, maybe - maybe  _ alive _ wasn’t quite the right word, but he’d  _ survived _ while the others died, and he had the scars to prove it. 

\--------

Jon stared at the jagged “ring” around his pinky finger. He had been attempting to chop his finger off for… longer than he probably should have been. He still bled, (he had the stains all over his desk to prove it) but as soon as he pulled the knife out it stopped bleeding and his skin closed, but it still left a scar. It looked like it was weeks old, still light and fresh, but healed nonetheless. Just another scar to add to the others. At least when he looked at this one he’d just be reminded of his own foolishness rather than Jane Prentiss, or Tim’s death. Just another failure in a long line of failures, if only a minor one. 

\-------

Jon hissed when he touched one of the fresh scars along his ribcage. He had one on each side - a matching set - one for himself, and one as payment to Jared Hopworth. There had been plenty of pain and blood, even though his skin had never technically been broken. Jared just reached into his body to twist, and pull, and forcibly yank his bones from his body. All that was left behind was the light gash of a fresh scar, and an ache behind his ribcage. He hoped, as he held the cleaned rib in his hand, it would be enough. That it would help lead him back out of the Buried. 

\------

Jon did a double take when he walked by the mirror, and took a step closer. His eyes were… different. They had always been a dark brown, but now? Now they were so black his irises were indistinguishable from the pupil. And it wasn’t just the lighting either, it was bright enough to see that. 

The Dark Star.

Jon had witnessed the Dark Star, and destroyed it just by Seeing it. It had been so beautiful, Jon had barely remembered the pain it caused as he looked upon it. A different kind of scar for sure, and hopefully less noticeable than some of his others, but there nonetheless. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the affinity he apparently had for gathering scars anymore, but he really hadn’t expected one from that. He never had been that lucky though, had he. This one at least, wasn’t nearly as noticeable as most of the others etched into his skin. 

\-------

Jon touched the small bandage Basira insisted on putting on his neck where Julia Montauk’s knife dug deep. He attempted to beg off, saying he didn’t need it, but she wouldn’t hear any of it, and Daisy had already refused her help, so Jon went along with it even though it was more than likely already healed. Basira needed something to do, and Jon wasn’t going to deny her that.

From the brief glimpse Jon had gotten in the mirror before Basira got her hands on him, the cut looked to be just below the one Daisy had left, right in the hollow of his throat. Jon was glad the joke he made - “What is it about Hunters always going for the throat?” actually got a smile out of her. It wasn’t much, and it was a bit sad, but it was better than nothing. It was really the best he could hope for these days.

\-------

Jon could feel the blood trickle down his throat as he turned away from Helen’s yellow door. She had wielded her fingers like others would a rapier. He could still feel the ghost of the sharp point where it had stabbed right at the top of his throat, forcing his head up, to look into her twisting, fractal eyes as she mocked him. Apparently, Hunters weren’t the only ones that went for the throat. 

It didn’t matter though. He could find Martin without her. He  _ had _ to. Jon wasn’t sure what he would do if anything happened to him. If he could have done something to save him and  _ didn’t _ ? Jon wasn’t sure if he could live with himself if that happened. He would head back and see if he could get a hold of Daisy and Basira again. 

He wiped the blood away, feeling the new scar already formed. It didn’t matter how many had, he would gain a hundred more, if it meant he could bring Martin back home safely. 

\-------

Jon mused at how lucky he was as he watched Martin, still sleeping next to him in the early morning light. His face was soft and relaxed, and Jon felt like he could stare at him for hours and not get tired of it. 

They had only been at the cabin in Scotland for about a week, but after a long, and heartfelt conversation after the first full day, it was like all the walls between them were broken down and thrown away. Of course they still stuttered and stammered at each other like they always had when either of them couldn’t figure out the words they needed, but they  _ talked _ , about anything and everything. Sometimes it was heavy, intense conversations, leading to one or both of them crying, but others were light hearted and silly or just sharing pieces of themselves. It was wonderful in a way Jon hadn’t expected.

Oh, and the casual touching! Jon was sure he would  _ never _ get enough of it. Holding hands, resting side by side on the couch, brushes to the shoulder, arms, knees, curled up and tangled together, both while awake and asleep. 

One evening while Martin was resting against Jon’s chest, he leaned his head back to look up at him, and touched the scars on his neck, “I know one of these is from Daisy, but what are the other two from?” 

Jon huffed softly, “You know me, always asking for trouble, and not knowing when to keep my mouth shut.” 

Martin just raised an eyebrow, which was, frankly adorable, especially from the odd angle. “One is from Julia Montauk, and the other from Helen, just before I came to get you from the Lonely, actually.” 

“Was that why there was blood on your collar? I thought it was from - ah - well,” Martin cleared his throat, “from Peter.” 

“No, I managed to miss most of… that.” It felt strange thinking about Peter, but Jon couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not really, it had been necessary to get Martin back. Jon figured he’d move the subject away from Peter Lukas, it usually brought too many Lonely feelings back for Martin. “I’ve gathered quite a few more scars than just those. You’ve only seen what a mess my face and hands have become. They extend a  _ lot _ further than that.” 

Jon must have added more derision to his tone than he realized, because Martin shifted to his stomach so he could face him properly, “Your face is not a - a  _ mess _ , Jon. Yes, you’ve gathered scars along the way, but that doesn’t make you any less beautiful. Not to me.” 

Jon felt his heart climb right into his throat. No one had ever called him beautiful before. Georgie used to call him handsome, but that was different. Jon could hear the reverence and the  _ truth _ ring through Martin’s words. Jon couldn’t find any words that would do the moment justice so he just leaned forward and kissed Martin. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was still a bit awkward, neither of them in the best position for it, but it was still  _ perfect _ . 

Jon shivered when Martin cupped his scarred cheek. It was so gentle, and soft it almost made Jon want to cry with it. Instead, he leaned into the touch. Martin broke the kiss and ran his thumb over Jon’s cheek. “W-would you mind if I tried something? I… I want to show you how I feel, b-but you can tell me to stop if - if you want. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” 

Jon pressed his hand on top of Martin’s, “I trust you.” Trusting Martin had been his mantra for the past year, and Jon wasn’t about to change it now. Martin smiled softly at him before leaning in, but rather than the kiss Jon expected, he kissed each of Jon’s eyelids. 

Martin was still giving him a soft look when he opened his eyes. “I - ah - noticed how much darker they were when you um - when you suggested the - ah - eye gouging. They’re not really a traditional scar, but… as good a place to start as any.”

“Oh, r-right. Uhh. The Black Star.” Jon still wasn’t quite sure where Martin was going with this, but he nodded as Martin shifted to a more comfortable position so he could lean in and kiss Jon’s cheek. But he didn’t just kiss it once, like Jon was expecting, he peppered his cheek with kisses, leaving one over each of his round scars, moving down his neck as he went. 

Jon sensed where Martin was going and tilted his head back so he could reach each of the three scars on the underside of his neck.

Martin pulled back just enough to make eye contact, while touching the edge of his shirt, “May I?” The blush along his cheeks that appeared at his question made Jon smile. He was a little hesitant at Martin removing his shirt, no one having seen him without one - besides the Doctors when he was in a coma - in years, but if Jon was going to feel comfortable with anyone seeing him vulnerable, it was Martin. He nodded, and leaned forward so Martin could pull it off. 

“Oh,  _ Jon _ .” 

Jon huffed a laugh without looking at Martin, almost afraid of what he’d see, “I told you they were extensive.”

“You’re  _ beautiful _ .” 

Jon looked up when Martin’s voice cracked on the word ‘beautiful’. Martin  _ really _ thought that. He really believed Jon was beautiful, someone to be  _ desired _ , and it cracked something deep in Jon he hadn’t known was there, hadn’t known that was something he really ever wanted,  _ needed _ .

Martin was so gentle as he picked up where he had left off, moving over Jon’s shoulder and down his chest, leaving a kiss on every scar from Prentiss, and the shrapnel from the Unknowning, the Boneturner’s slashes, and Michael twisting spiral; skipping not a one. 

Jon had never felt so loved, so  _ cherished _ than he did in that moment; as Martin kissed, and caressed, and pressed love into his skin. Jon wasn’t sure when he had started silently crying, but after Martin had kissed down his arm, leaving one in the middle of his palm for Jude’s burn he wiped Jon’s tears away before pulling him into a hug. Jon buried his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, breathing him in.

After awhile Jon managed to pull himself together, took a shaky breath and leaned back. “Thank you, Martin.” 

Martin cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead. “Never doubt your beauty. Inside or out.”

Jon almost felt like he was going to start to cry again, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that so soon. Maybe he’d give another go at testing his sense of humor on Martin.

“Except for my leg.”

Martin’s face did that cute little scrunch it does when he was confused. 

“My leg, which had a chunk taken out of it - thanks to  _ your _ corkscrew, if you remember - is just  _ languishing _ , unloved.” Jon wiggled said leg from where it was stuck between Martin and the back of the couch. 

The progression of expressions that flitted across Martin’s face would bring Jon joy for a long time. Shock, concern, realization, disbelief and finally a bright, broad smile. 

“Oh my…  _ Jon _ .” His voice cracked on his name, and he lifted Jon over his shoulder and carried him around like he weighed nothing, laughing, and scolding him about the proper time for making jokes.

Jon might have let out an undignified yelp, but dissolved quickly into laughter. Real,  _ genuine _ laughter for the first time in longer than Jon could remember. 

When Martin finally let him down, in their small bedroom, they were both smiling and trying to gain their breath back.

“I love you.” It wasn’t the first time Jon said it, but he meant it, so wholeheartedly, the feeling threatened to overwhelm him.

Martin’s smile went soft, and his voice warm, “Love you too.”

Jon had been able to reminisce on the previous evening before Martin woke up. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times, trying to get Jon into focus.

Martin’s voice was still sleep rough, and adorable. “Good morning, beautiful.” 

Jon thought he might actually get used to hearing that. It sounded… okay,  _ right _ , coming from Martin. He smiled, happy in a way that he was sure he had never been before, and brought his hand to Martin’s cheek, “Good morning, love.” 

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to stop by and say hello on [tumblr!](https://kristsune.tumblr.com/)


End file.
